


dreams

by ChasingRainbows



Series: learning, healing, growing [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, I'm Sorry, Kinda, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Phone Calls, Rich set a fire, Whoa, and he got ptsd, brief discussion of unsolved murder, but very much almost romantic, expensive headphones, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRainbows/pseuds/ChasingRainbows
Summary: Sometimes Rich wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like he's still burning.





	dreams

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry

Fire.

He wonders if everyone will make it out safely.

Well, other than him, he supposes. He’ll burn to ash and even his soul won’t make it out okay, not after everything he’s done, and then he’ll never stop burning and burning and _burning andburningandburningandburningandburningand–_

Rich’s eyes snap open, jolting upright and kicking himself free of the sheets, a scream perched on the edge of his lips. Awake, he’s awake, he supposes, but if he’s awake then why can he still feel flames licking scalding tongues across his skin, why can he taste the smoke clogging his lungs, why can he still smell himself burning, why is he still burningburning _burning–_

_Cold._

Cold water against hot, clammy skin. Shower. He’s in the shower, icy water making the tile slick under his hands. How did he get here? He doesn’t remember anything, only fire.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t do any of the normal shower procedures. He just stands there, staring blankly down at the faucet, letting the freezing water soothe his skin while the sound soothes his mind. He pretends it’s rain, his own personal thunderstorm to settle his thoughts, put out the fire in his head.

He chuckles bitterly under his breath. He may be out of the fire, but the fire’s sure as fuck not out of him. It’s trapped beneath his skin, smoke stuck in the slight rasp of his voice.

When he finally starts to register how fucking cold the water actually is, he shuts it off, drying himself quickly so he can sprint back to bed in his boxers. He’s not settled enough to actually go back to sleep yet, so he just tucks himself in and picks up his phone to scroll through Instagram.

**420 gay:** _1 missed call (23 minutes ago)_

The part of his brain that equates late night phone calls to emergency has him dialing back before he really realizes it. But then again, this is Michael, who usually sends memes to the chat at 3 in the morning; Michael, whose sleep schedule can only be considered a sleep schedule by the vaguest definition. Michael picks up on the third ring, a conversation already sliding from his lips before he even takes his finger off the answer button.

“–ey, you are awake! Dude, I just saw this thing and I figured you’d wanna hear about it, ‘cause you like, like, true crime stuff, right?”

“Are you saying you called me at 2:04 AM to tell me about an unsolved murder case?” Rich raises an eyebrow, even though Michael won’t be able to see it, amusement lacing his voice.

“Yes. Although I actually called you at like…1 something. 1:40? I dunno. A while ago.”

“Michael.”

“Richard.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re my soulmate.”

Michael laughs. “Because I’m about to tell you about an unsolved murder case from 50 years ago?”

“Absolutely. But if you don’t hurry up and tell me about the case, I’ll have to take that back. You’ll be downgraded to Regular Friend again.”

Michael gasps dramatically. “Fine, fine! Okay, so. There’s this guy, right?”

“Let me guess. He gets murdered.”

“Are you gonna let me tell you or are you gonna interrupt every two seconds?”

“Depends on how interesting this case is.” Of course, he thinks everything that comes out of Michael’s mouth is interesting, but whatever.

Michael scoffs. “Why would I call you at 2 AM if it wasn’t interesting?”

“Because you wanted to hear my voi–I can hear you rolling your eyes already, at least let me finish the sentence!”

“Shut up and let me tell you about the case!” They’re both laughing quietly at this point.

Michael continues excitedly telling him about the case. Rich listens with the same amount of enthusiasm. The case really is interesting, but he still interrupts every so often with his own little comments. He wouldn’t be Richard Goranski if he didn’t. He forgets about smoke-covered dreams and fire eating him alive. His thoughts are red and warm and no longer scalding, consuming him.

Eventually they fall into comfortable silence. His eyelids start to grow heavy again and he nestles more deeply into his pillows.

“D'you have, like,” he interrupts himself with a yawn, “some kinda sensor or something?”

“Huh?” Michael sounds sleepier himself. Or maybe he’s just confused. Rich can’t tell. Brain’s not on.

“Y'know, like–like some kinda sixth sense or something? For when I’m not doin’ so hot?” Hehe. Hot. Fire. Burning. Hot. He was hilarious and he didn’t even have to try.

“What?” Now Michael definitely sounds confused. Rich can hear the little crease forming between his eyebrows as they draw together in his “I am confusion” face.

“'Cause you always seem to find me when I’m havin’ a shit time. Can’t think how else you’d do it,” Rich mumbles. He isn’t even sure if Michael can hear him, much less understand what he’s going on about. He himself isn’t even sure what he’s saying anymore.

“I do?” Michael sounds surprised, maybe a little amused at Rich’s late night (early morning?) ramblings. “Is that– does it– Huh. I didn’t know.” A pause. “…Are you okay?”

“Mm? Yeah, I’m good, dude.” Rich shaked himself awake, rubbing his eyes. “Just kinda…like I’m gonna fall asleep soon. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, are you okay?”

Michael chuckles softly into the receiver. “Yeah, I’m fine. Less high, more tired.” He pauses again. He’s doing that a lot, Rich thinks. He only does that when he has something he wants to say but isn’t really sure how to say it, or even if he should. “…I was asking because, you know, you said I always find you when you’re having a shit time and, like. That implies that you were having a shit time earlier? But you said you’re good now so I guess it doesn’t matter now, right? Oh God, I mean, not that it doesn’t matter but just–”

Ah. There it is.

“Whoa, Mikey, breathe.” Rich figures it’s okay to cut him off this time. “I just had a nightmare earlier is all. PTSD bullshit or somethin’. Fire and all that. And I was too worked up to even try sleeping after.” He picks at a loose thread on his pillowcase, focusing on that instead of wondering what Michael’s expression might be, or if he’s saying too much. “But talking about a bloody hotel murder from the 50s really calmed me the fuck down.”

Humor and swearing. The best defense mechanisms.

Michael snorts at that, but Rich feels the weird, heavy atmosphere lift. “I mean. Who wouldn’t calm down after that?”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

There’s another pause before Michael takes a breath and says, “Just call me next time, okay? I mean, I’m always up anyway, so, like. Might as well, y'know?”

“’S long as you tell me about another murder,” Rich mumbles, stretching and rolling onto his side.

“You still sound like you’re about to fall asleep.” Michael is smirking. Rich can tell.

“Nahhhh.”

“Dude, go to bed. Only I am allowed to be up at ungodly hours of the night.”

“Okay, Daddy. Goodnight.”

Michael makes a gagging noise. “Gross.”

“Don’t kinkshame me! I don’t kinkshame you for your vore shit!”

“You’re right," Michael deadpans. We must band together against the true evil. Jeremy and his fursuit.”

Rich cackles unattractively, Michael’s laugh mixing in to create the best melody Rich has ever heard.

Okay, damn, that was cheesy, Goranski. Wow.

Rich is asleep before the call ended screen fades away. He dreams of gentle fingers against rough scars, of guiding a hand slowly to his cheek and dark chocolate eyes widening under thick lashes and even thicker lens, red cheeks and red hoodies and red slushies. He still wakes up burning, but this burn whispers of love instead of war.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all know i'm absolutely not sorry right lmao  
> come scream at me on my tumblr @bemorechillifries!!


End file.
